This Could Be Us (Skyland, #2)(83)

“The story of my life.” I roll my eyes but watch fondly as the two of them hug their farewells. “Travel safe and kiss your mama for me.”

“Will do.” Hendrix smiles, though without her characteristic easy humor and warmth. Her mother’s dealing with some form of dementia, and it continues to worsen. It weighs heavily on Hendrix, and she visits her in Charlotte as often as she can.

“The two of you doing anything special over the holidays?” I ask, reaching to squeeze her hand.

“I do have tickets to a Broadway show. Mama loves them, and we used to…” Hendrix’s smile is a little reminiscent, a touch sad. She sighs and squeezes my hand back. “We’ll see how she’s feeling.”

“Merry Christmas, Hen.” I kiss her cheek. “Love you.”

“Merry Christmas,” she says, finding her usual bright smile. “Love you too, Sol.”

Once Hendrix leaves, I load the small crate of pasteles and coquito into the Pilot.

“I’ll be back soon,” I tell the girls, who are still busy working on the next batch.

“Can we play Uno when you get back, Mom?” Lottie pleads.

“We’re playing dominoes,” Lupe says. “All Nochebuena traditions, remember?”

“I think one game of Uno won’t hurt.” I give my youngest a wink and head toward the garage. “Be back.”

My heart constricts in my chest when I pull up to Cora’s house. The last time we came over for book club, Yasmen, Hendrix, and I helped Cora’s kids put up Christmas decorations. I know there is a cloud of uncertainty and fear hanging over Cora’s house as they enter this next phase of battling the illness, but the warm glow of lights adorning the porch and twinkling from the tree in the front window adds at least some exterior cheer.

I shift the two boxes cradled to my chest and ring the doorbell with the hand holding the carafe of coquito between my fingers. The door opens and a man I haven’t met, but have seen in photos on the wall, stands at the threshold.

“Hi,” I say, smiling tentatively. “I’m Soledad.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” he answers. “I travel a lot, so I’ve been away the times you’ve come, but Cora and the kids told me all about you.” A half smile settles on his mouth between the lines of fatigue marking his face. “They even showed me some of your videos.”

“Oh.” I manage a laugh. “Those. Yeah, well. It’s nice to finally meet you. Robert, right?”

“Right.” He gestures inside to the small foyer. “Cora’s asleep, and the kids went to a movie. Figured they deserved a little escape, but you’re welcome to come inside.”

“Oh, no.” I proffer the two boxes along with the carafe. “My girls and I made pasteles, and I promised Cora I would bring her some.”

“What’re pasteles?”

“They’re kinda like tamales. In Puerto Rico, we make them to celebrate Nochebuena… uh, like Christmas Eve. Anyway, we’ve been making them all day, and I wanted to bring some over. You can try them whenever. Freeze them. Up to you.”

“And this?” he asks, tipping the carafe.

“It’s coquito. Kinda like eggnog. Rum and coconut. I think you’ll like it.”

“I’ll have this tonight,” he says. “And thank you.”

“Oh, it was nothing. I had told Cora I would bring it by, so—”

“I mean for everything,” he interrupts softly. “For the meal train, cleaning the house, coming to see her. Being a friend. It means a lot to her and the kids. To all of us.”

I blink back tears because the things I’ve done seem so inconsequential in the face of what Cora and her family are experiencing. I know firsthand how terrifying this fight is. I know how it feels to lose it, to do everything everyone told us, and it just wasn’t enough. The helpless rage of losing Mami too soon swells in my chest, vises my heart. I hate that my new friend has to battle the same foe.

“Merry Christmas,” I say after a few moments. “Tell Cora I’ll check on her soon.”

“Merry Christmas,” he replies, his solemn eyes dropping to the boxes of pasteles in his hands.

I turn and take the porch steps quickly. Even with my back to him, I’m afraid he’ll sense my tears somehow. Stumbling through the slightly neglected yard, I force my feet to keep moving until I reach the Pilot. I climb in and glance back to the house. I can see Robert through the screen door, holding the two festive boxes and the coquito. He hasn’t moved from the spot, but just stands there looking a little lost, like he’s not sure what’s next.

And I know that feeling too.

I start my car, but don’t drive off immediately. Instead, I glance over at the passenger seat, where one last box of pasteles and a bottle of coquito rest. I can lie to myself, but when I packed the extra box, I knew who it was for.

I drive almost on autopilot for the few miles it takes to reach my destination. I pull out my phone to send a text.


Me: Hey! What are you up to?




Judah: Nothing much. The boys are spending Christmas Eve with Tremaine. We fly out tomorrow to see my parents.




Me: So you’re home?



A string of dots hovers, and my heart seems to be suspended too. Waiting to beat.